patience also is at an end. I demand my freedom and that of my
daughter."

"What do you offer in exchange?"

"I offer nothing in exchange!" said Vard, and rose slowly to his feet.
"I intend to offer my services to France!"

Pachmann looked at him--at his bent and wasted figure, his shaking
hands, his trembling knees--a mocking light in his eyes.

"My dear friend," he sneered, "you are mad--quite mad! I have suspected
it from the first!"

"You are _not_ mad, M. Vard," said a pleasant voice at the threshold.
"And you have your freedom. France accepts your services!"

CHAPTER XXVIII

CROCHARD, THE INVINCIBLE!

Pachmann jerked round with an oath. At the first glance, he thought it
was the Prince who stood there, though it had not been the Prince's
voice. A second glance undeceived him. There was, it is true, a certain
puzzling resemblance to the Prince, but this man was more strongly
built, more graceful--and the Prince could never smile like that! And
then, with a little bow, the newcomer removed the broad-brimmed hat
which shadowed his face, and, with a sudden feeling of sickness,
Pachmann recognised him.

But the Admiral was a brave man, with a nerve not easily shaken;
besides, the odds were all in his favour! Yet he realised the need for
all his resource, all his self control. At the end of a moment, he rose
slowly, almost carelessly.

"Who are you, sir?" he demanded.

"Do you not know me?" laughed the stranger. "Surely, yes! I saw your
eyes penetrate this slight disguise. I crossed with you on the
_Ottilie_, Admiral, as Andre Chevrial. I believe you even did me the
honour to convince yourself that that was really my name. I am,
however, better known in Paris as Crochard, L'Invincible!"

"Ah," said Pachmann, with a tightening of the brows, "a spy, then?"

"No, Admiral; a patriot like yourself."

"And your business here?"

"I have already stated it: to accept for France the services of this
incomparable man."

Something flashed in Pachmann's hand, but even as he jerked up his arm,
there was a soft impact, and a revolver clattered to the floor. Crochard
sprang for it, seized it, and slipped it into his pocket.

"I was expecting that," he said, still smiling. "Now we can talk more at
our ease," and he came into the bedroom, closed the door, placed a chair
against it, and sat down. "Pray be seated, M. Vard," he added
courteously to the inventor. "And you, Admiral."

Pachmann, white with pain,